


Celestial Forces

by Strings (fangirlgeekout)



Series: Discovery & Laughter [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Mojo, Angelic Grace, Fluff, M/M, TWP - Tickles Without Plot, Tickling, Ticklish Dean Winchester, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2438963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a crappy day. Cas makes it better.</p><p>---</p><p>  <i>Castiel finally sat back, allowing Dean to breathe his own air again. The angel studied him for a moment, head tilted ever so slightly. He laid a palm on Dean’s stomach.</i></p><p>  <i>It started slowly. A tingle that crept out along the skin under his shirt, then seeped down into his muscles. His abs contracted. The tingle grew into a soft prickling and Dean’s breath quickened.</i></p><p>  <i>He lifted his head up to look at Cas’ hand. It hadn’t moved, and to the eye, it didn’t look like anything should be happening at all.</i></p><p>  <i>"Okay, that is not fair…” He tried to keep his breathing steady and made a grab for the angel’s coat sleeve. Cas’ other hand lifted in a nonchalant swatting motion, and an unseen force repelled Dean’s arm. “Hey!”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t stop giving Dean _Star Wars_ references. I’m kind of sorry but not really.
> 
> Originally published Dec 2013 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/69325111204/celestial-forces-part-1).

The motel room doorknob rattled. Indistinct muttering from the other side increased in volume as the the knob jerked once, twice; the door finally came crashing open with a bitter grumble ending in “… _the damn key_.”

Dean stumbled over the threshold into the room. The small table by the entryway tagged his kneecap, and his recoil sent him nearly tripping over the wooden chair he’d failed to push in when they left the room earlier that day.

"God _dammit_ ,” he growled, and flung the room key in the general direction of the dirty little kitchenette.

Castiel strode quietly in after him, pushing the door shut with a gentle click.

The disgruntled hunter was already popping the cap off a beer and kicking angrily at the heels of his boots. One flipped off and thudded near the dresser. The other struck the bathroom door a few seconds later. His olive green jacket was hurled at the nearby wall, where it slid down onto the floor.

Cas perched on the corner of the bed and waited for the hunter’s frustration to ebb. The hunt hadn’t gone particularly wrong, but it had been long and exhausting, and Dean had taken a beating. The scrapes on his face had since stopped bleeding, Cas noted, although he was still refusing to let the angel heal him. Cas figured there was some link between him being hurt and angry and not having any other way to let off steam.

Dean swore again when another piece of furniture caught his toe, sending him reeling and sloshing a portion of his beer across the carpet. He dumped himself onto the foot of bed at Cas’ right, fuming. Cas’ expression was sympathetic as he reached toward the hunter’s shoulder. Dean flinched away with a huff and tilted the bottle toward his lips.

"At least let me mend your injuries," Castiel said patiently.

Dean didn’t meet his eyes, but leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. When he didn’t move again, Cas took it as compliance and delicately pressed two fingers to his blood-streaked temple.

Dean sighed as the ache and fatigue - and the irritation, he noticed too - subsided. He turned his head to look sheepishly at his partner. “Sorry.”

Cas gave him a small smile and shifted closer. The hunter leaned into him, lightly at first, then more and more heavily until he was slumped over sideways into the angel’s lap. “You make everything better,” he mumbled.

"If only you would remember that before allowing your annoyance to get the better of you." Cas laid a hand on the small of the other man’s back and traced around his lower spine. Dean hummed and snuggled in, the bottle dangling precariously from his hand. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but he didn’t care to move at the moment.

Cas pressed more deeply into the muscle with his fingers, drawing out a tired groan. He reached down with the other hand and plucked the beer bottle away. Dean whined and made a show of swiping weakly at it as Cas set it down on the floor. “You don’t need it right now.”

"What have I told you about the difference between _needing_ and _wanting_ things?” the hunter groused. Cas shushed him by kneading more firmly up his back.

The angel’s strong hands made quick work of any remaining discomfort in his overworked muscles. Until they pressed a bit too close to his side. Dean tensed and coughed.

"Why don’t you lay down," Cas suggested, working his way out from beneath the reluctant weight that made a disappointed noise when he moved. He stooped to grab the bottle off the floor and walked it over to the dingy counter. When he turned back toward the bed, Dean was shucking his overshirt and tugging at his belt. Cas considered changing his clothes as well, but when he moved toward the duffel bag near one of the hunter’s discarded shoes, an impatient whimper directed him otherwise. Dean had finished pulling on his flannel sleep pants and was reaching out with grabby hands from his flopped position on the bed.

Cas suppressed a sigh. “Don’t be childish,” he rebuffed, but his eyes smiled as he came over to sit on the edge of the mattress.

Dean shimmied up toward the headboard to grab a pillow. He curled onto his side and looked expectantly up at the trenchcoated figure half-lit by the bedside lamp. “Are you just gonna sit there?”

"Perhaps."

He harrumphed, pawing at the angel’s side. Cas twisted away and fixed him with a chastising look. Dean scowled. “Don’t be a bitch. Or else.”

Cas squinted. “Or else what?”

Dean made to paw at him again, but slipped his hand under the edge of the coat and pinched his side. Cas inhaled sharply and grabbed his wrist. “You are in no position to start this.”

"Start what?" came the innocent reply, along with a second hand aiming for the same spot. Cas deflected and pinned both the hunter’s wrists to the mattress with one hand.

"Mmm, kinky," Dean grinned.

"Are you ticklish, Dean?"

His grin faltered. “What? No. …Why?”

"Do you really think I didn’t notice?" Cas reached over and kneaded once at the hunter’s side. Dean coughed again. "You’ve tormented me enough - I believe it’s tradition to ‘get you back,’ according to Sam."

"Why the hell are you talking to Sam about that?" Dean protested. "And I’m not ticklish, so it doesn’t even matter."

Cas’ expression remained unchanged as he squeezed the same spot again.

The cover-up cough sounded less convincing, and Dean kicked at him. “Knock it off.”

Castiel suddenly rose up from the bed. The hunter got a brief glimpse of the intensely serious look on his face before the lamp sparked out with a sharp crackle.

 _Oh, shit_. Dean scrambled back, trying to adjust his eyes to the fresh darkness. For a second, he swore there were deeper shadows growing out behind the angel’s towering silhouette.

"I am an Angel of the Lord," the deep voice rumbled. "Do not lie to me, Dean Winchester."

A flutter, and Dean found himself flat on his back, with Castiel’s darkened eyes only inches from his own. His breath caught in his throat.

Cas pecked a kiss on the tip of his nose.

It took Dean a few seconds to remember how to breathe again. “What… what are you doing?” he asked shakily.

"It’s called _intimidation_ ,” Cas quoted amiably. “Did it work?”

Dean was still trying to determine if his heart was pounding because he was freaked the hell out, or because that had just been really… sexy. “Uhh-” He shifted against the mattress, conscious of Castiel’s full weight pressing down against his body. He couldn’t break his stare from the burning blue gaze. If nothing else, at least his eyesight had adjusted to the darker room. “So you’re not going to smite me for breaking one of the dumber of the Ten Commandments?” he asked hesitantly.

"I would never intentionally harm you, Dean." Cas didn’t back off from the intense eye contact. "But you did just admit that you lied to me."

 _Shit shit **shit**_. “Ah, no, I mean… like hypothetically, if I _did_ do that, you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t, uh…” He huffed out a nervous laugh, then put on a pleading face. “Please get off me.”

Cas didn’t budge. “No.”

"Pretty please?" The super close face-to-face thing was either really uncomfortable or acutely intimate. His brain was having trouble making decisions.

"Let me think. No."

"Alright, listen, if you want me to never tickle you again, we can-"

"Bargaining will get you nowhere."

Dean swallowed.

Castiel finally sat back, allowing Dean to breathe his own air again. The angel studied him for a moment, head tilted ever so slightly. He laid a palm on Dean’s stomach.

It started slowly. A tingle that crept out along the skin under his shirt, then seeped down into his muscles. His abs contracted. The tingle grew into a soft prickling and Dean’s breath quickened.

He lifted his head up to look at Cas’ hand. It hadn’t moved, and to the eye, it didn’t _look_ like anything should be happening at all.

"Okay, _that_ is not fair…” He tried to keep his breathing steady and made a grab for the angel’s coat sleeve. Cas’ other hand lifted in a nonchalant swatting motion, and an unseen force repelled Dean’s arm. “Hey!”

A smile was playing at Cas’ lips when the prickling intensified. Dean grunted and resisted the urge to curl around the increasingly unbearable sensation. It was starting to spread up his torso, weaving into his lower ribs.

"Alright, you’ve made your point, come ohon…" He cursed himself for the quiet snigger that edged into his words, and pushed up onto his elbows to wriggle out from under his captor.

"I don’t believe I have." Cas waved again, and Deans elbows slipped out from under him, sending his head thumping back on the pillow.

"What are you, a Jedi?" Dean muttered through clenched teeth.

The angel cocked his head. “I don’t know. Can they do this?”

The sensation pulsed, and Dean couldn’t repress the giggle that bubbled out.

Castiel’s eyes lit up. That was a new sound he’d never heard before. He motionlessly drove a more insistent surge into the hunter’s belly.

"Oh God, dohohon’t!" Dean’s knees jerked up behind Cas’ back as he burst into a giggle fit. He twisted under the hand pressing into his stomach and tried to knock it away, only to be pushed back by another casual gesture. "Cahahahas!"

"Yes, Dean?"

It intensified again, cutting off any response he attempted. What _was_ this? If Cas was the celestial equivalent of a Jedi, he decided, then this was the Force. And _Christ_ , it tickled. He hitched up and was promptly shoved down again.

"Nohohot faihahahahahair!" Dean managed to squeak out.

"I’ve been informed that fairness has nothing to do with it," Cas replied calmly.

 _You are **not** allowed to talk to Sam anymore_ , Dean wanted to say, but coherent protests weren’t exactly easy. He squirmed and pulled, but was repeatedly overridden by the angel’s maddeningly simple gestures.

Cas was starting to understand why Dean enjoyed being on the giving end of this activity. He admired the way Dean’s eyes crinkled at the corners as his laughter pitched upwards. And his smile was brilliant. Thus far, Cas hadn’t been focusing too intently on any one aspect of his attack. But now he started to concentrate, sending targeted ripples to one area at a time and mentally cataloging the results.

Dean gasped when a pulse arced up his ribcage and coiled between the bones. His elbows jolted in against his sides, but did nothing to lessen the feeling. It wound through his chest, crooking into every space and leeching into nerve endings he didn’t even know he had, leaving him unable to get a complete breath in. He tossed his head back and shook in near-silent laughter.

As gratifying as it was to see the hunter break down, Cas reluctantly concluded that breathing was fairly important, and shifted his focus.

The sensation darted to Dean’s collarbones, neck, and underarms in turn, spiraling and whispering and permeating in the worst possible ways. He was a red-faced wreck, scrunching and flailing, and always ending up pressed flat back the way he started.

"Cahahas, _pleahehehease_ \- nohoho!” the hunter pleaded between gasps and occasional giggle-snorts, which Castiel found absolutely endearing. He kept a list of all the places that caused them, for later. But it really did look like Dean needed a break. He lifted his palm.

The tickling fizzled out like a firework. It took Dean a moment to realize he could successfully cradle his midsection, which he did, still flinching with remnants of giggles.

"That… was horrible. You are horrible," he panted.

"That was ‘going easy’," Cas grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean shuddered. He moved to get up, but an invisible force planted his shoulders back down on the bed. He looked confusedly up at the angel still straddling him.

"You needed to breathe. Count yourself fortunate that I’m allowing you a break to recover naturally."

"A _break_?!” Dean shoved himself up on his elbows with an incredulous expression.

Cas flicked his fingers, sending Dean thumping back on the mattress again. “Your penance hasn’t been paid,” he said gravely, but a glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Lying _is_ one of the Ten Commandments, as you yourself pointed out.”

”…You can’t be serious.”

One corner of Cas’ lips quirked up. “In lieu of the somewhat crude phrase ‘ _as a heart attack_ ,’ I believe an appropriate substitution would be ‘ _as you are ticklish_.’”

"You feathery bastard," Dean laughed, dropping his head back on the pillow.

"Half right."

A sudden _whoosh_ , and huge black wings canopied over the two of them.

“ _oh_ ,” Dean said in a very small voice.

Unseen pressure on his forearms kept them pinned in place as the angel reached down and pulled the hem of his tee up around his chest.

“H-hey, hold on a second,” Dean objected, trying to keep the rising panic out of his voice. “There are loads of ways to pay penance. I’ll lay off the alcohol, or start saying Hail Marys or,” - here he grimaced as though the word actually pained him - “fasting…”

Castiel dipped forward, fluidly closing the space between them. He placed one hand on the side of the other’s jaw and kissed him softly. Dean was caught off guard, but hummed in the back of his throat and decided not to question the turn of events.

It was several long seconds before Cas broke away. “You’re not paying penance to Heaven,” he said quietly. The hunter’s green eyes questioningly searched his own. “You’re paying penance to _me_.”

Feathers flicked up Dean’s newly bared sides. He yelped and promptly dissolved into laughter. Cas’ wingtips skimmed along the sensitized skin, sweeping across his middle and dancing up and down his flanks. He yanked at his arms, but they stayed firmly pinned under the angel’s willpower. Cas’ hands remained resting on the bed, supporting his slightly hunched posture while his wings arched down to do the work for him.

Dean couldn’t determine which was worse, _this_ or the celestial Force, as he was mentally referring to it. The thick black feathers brushed torturously over his exposed skin, driving him up into continual giggles and keeping him there. The edge of one wing would saw back and forth across his stomach while the other would flit up to his neck. Then they’d stroke over his ribs and a tip would sneak under his bunched-up shirt to his underarms, perpetually caressing the air straight out of his chest in the form of breathless laughter.

The hunter’s flannel pajama pants had ridden low on his hips due to his constant squirming. Cas dragged the tips of his flight feathers down along the edge of the waistband, grazing over Dean’s lower abdomen. He brightened at the higher-pitched giggling that resulted, and couldn’t resist adding to it by reaching down and tickling the sides of Dean’s hips with his fingers.

"GAAAH!" Dean screeched and bucked, which was unexpected and frankly a little startling. Eyebrows raised, Cas repeated the motion and watched Dean’s face as he tossed his head. He looked like he wanted to make some sort of death threat, but laughter wouldn’t permit him.

Cas grinned and eased up for a moment. He made sure he had eye contact before lifting his fingers and repositioning his hands to cup Dean’s hips. He waited patiently for a few seconds until the realization registered on Dean’s face.

"No no NO, wait, don’t, PLEASE-"

A fierce tingling surge flooded his hips, and Dean came completely unhinged. He cackled maniacally, heaving and twisting against Cas’ attempts to hold him down. The sensation dove deep into his bones, quivering and sparking through the surrounding flesh. He couldn’t take this - he would go insane, he was sure of it. 

Once again, Cas was running into the problem of Dean’s breathing. This human limitation was a hindrance, and he decided to take care of it, for the short term at least. He lifted one hand and pressed it to the hunter’s chest.

Dean gasped in a deep breath as oxygen flooded his system. The ache of extended laugher disappeared from his abdominal muscles. He’d been reset, he realized, and that was more than a little distressing. He was about to tell Cas off when the hand returned to his hip, and all hope of coherent speech was lost once more.

Briefly, Castiel wondered if this could be considered sadistic. That would be highly unbecoming. But then he recalled how utterly ruthless Dean could be when their situation was reversed. This was simply, as Sam had helpfully put it, payback. He had no doubt that Dean would try to return it to him at one point or another, though; it was like a war, he decided. But then how did one win? The individual skirmishes had been easy to determine, but one couldn’t simply count the battles to decide a winner. He would have to ask Sam if there were any historical records or strategy resources for winning a tickle war.

Meanwhile, Dean was falling apart beneath his hands. He was still attempting to fight Cas off, which Cas found both admirable and inconvenient. Having to constantly adjust his will to counteract Dean’s struggling was detrimental to his concentration.

He sighed and sat up, releasing his hold on Dean’s hips and pumping in another quick dose of oxygen. He preferred not to wait the several minutes it would take for Dean to compose himself and listen.

Dean’s eyes went wide when his lungs flooded and relaxed of their own accord. He looked up, slightly apprehensive but still determined not to give the angel complete victory. “You know, I think I’m gonna tell Sammy that I already know what our next hunt is.”

Cas cocked his head. He’d apparently underestimated Dean’s ability to multitask. “I haven’t heard of any new odd occurrences over the past several days. What have you discovered?”

“ _You_.” The angel squinted in confusion. Dean grinned. “I always thought the tickle monster was just a story, but _you_ have got to go.”

The blue eyes cast up toward the ceiling in an expression of exasperation. “You know, I was going to give you a choice about this.” He gestured upwards with both hands, and the hunter’s wrists were pulled up above his head. One quick touch to the forehead was all it took to put the lockdown on Dean’s body. “It’s easier to fully incapacitate you than having to keep warding off your escape attempts.”

Dean’s heart rate spiked when he realized he couldn’t move. At all. He’d at least been able to struggle before, as useless as that was, but now he couldn’t will his limbs to even twitch. “Sonofabitch,” he half-chuckled. “I swear to all that is holy - excluding you, of course-“

Cas ignored him. “I’ve come to realize there is a prominent psychological component to tickling,” he began over-seriously, like a dry academic lecture. “Increased vulnerability, whether real or perceived, causes a heightened response.” He paused to roll up his sleeves. “Shall we talk about how defenseless you are? Or how I can keep you here as long as I want? You’re already aware that your eventual lack of breath won’t get you out of anything; what makes you think I can’t sustain you in any other way necessary? I could choose to keep this up for hours, Dean. Days.”

Dean was _not_ gonna get psyched out over this, no way. He maintained his defiant tone. ”I think we’d be arrested for disturbing the peace. The screams would probably put people off.”

"I soundproofed this room the moment we started." Cas leaned in. "But do you think I _could_ make you scream? That would be an accomplishment not many could boast, I’m sure.”

"I’ll get you a trophy," Dean scoffed.

Cas huffed through his nose. “The legendary Winchester bravado.” He scooted forward and plucked at the shirt that was rumpled up around the top of Dean’s chest. “I think it would be best if this obstruction were removed.” He pushed it up, flipping it partially inside-out as he worked it up over the hunter’s limp arms.

Dean sputtered when the collar caught on his face. “Really?” he muttered behind the bunched fabric. A warning poke to one armpit shushed him. The shirt was removed and laid aside, and Cas’ wings stretched up toward Dean’s hands. They flicked once in a little circle around his palms before drawing down the underside of his forearms, over the inside of his elbows to his triceps. He tried to flex away, but the signals from his brain couldn’t seem to make it that far.

Castiel smiled knowingly and dragged the tips of his feathers a little lower, brushing them in little patterns just above Dean’s underarms. He watched with an amused expression as the hunter bit his lip and stared resolutely up at the ceiling.

There were a couple seconds of strained silence before Dean finally blurted out, “Dammit, Cas, if you’re gonna do it, just do it and get it over with!” 

The long feathers instantly swept down into the hollows, swirling and darting, the neighboring shafts scraping across the sides of his upper ribs. Dean jolted with laughter - or at least he would have, if his body could have responded to his commands. His head jerked up and his stomach shook, and that’s about all he could manage. He would never admit it, but Cas was right - not having a hope of protecting himself made it so much worse. The soft, whisking, prodding strokes were agonizing. When they were joined with the light scratching of fingertips, he lost it. “ _NO_ hohohoho! Ca-… ple-… shihihihihiiiiit _AAGH_!”

Cas’ fingers danced among the black feathers, switching up their pressure and speed every few seconds. He dragged them inward over Dean’s chest, circling the anti-possession tattoo below his collarbone before digging into the spaces between his ribs.

Dean was sure this was actual torture. He was already gasping desperately between fits of laughter. He mentally cursed the angel when his lungs opened wide again and allowed the whole process to repeat itself. It felt like his nervous system would short out.

Then the hands were grasping his hips again, and it happened.

He screamed. And squealed, and swore, and screeched, and repented of every second he’d ever tormented his angel.

It took several minutes for Dean to realize that the attack was slowly diminishing. The wings drew back, and the angelic Force tickling waned. Cas moved off his thighs and finally released the hold on his motor skills. Dean gingerly pulled his arms down and curled onto his side in the fetal position. His hips were still tingling with enough leftover sensation to keep him in distracted giggles.

Cas slid in behind him, wrapping him up in his arms and nuzzling into the back of his neck. 

"I believe you’ve atoned," Castiel murmured into the hunter’s neck with a small smile.

"You… you…" Dean couldn’t finish his thought. His mind and body both still felt overloaded.

"I also believe you owe me a trophy."

A bleary grumble was the only response.

"Shh, sleep now." Cas curled one dark wing protectively over Dean’s exhausted body. "I’ll watch over you."


End file.
